inside of you
by qfabray
Summary: because no one was allowed to hurt santana except for him. puck/santana.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't unusual when Santana Lopez heard her name being called to Sue Sylvestre's office over the loudspeaker, so she didn't sweat it. Plus, she was Head Cheerleader. What was really gonna happen? She sat down calmly, crossing one perfectly tanned leg over the other, a look of pure boredom on her face. She was already pissed off because that annoying kid with the Jewfro got in her face first thing this morning.

"A little bird told me someone spent her summer vacation getting a brand new set of melons." Sue started, hands laced and sitting on her desk as she swayed back and forth in her chair.

That. Fucking. _Bitch. _Santana looked away, avoiding Sue's eyes at all costs, because what else could she really do? She was ultimately screwed and there was no point in making it worse by letting her fury for Quinn Slutfuck Fabray take over.

"Even though you know I have a strict no plastics policy in Cheerios." Sue was almost smiling, and Santana rolled her eyes, because Quinn was as shiny and fake as they came. "Care to comment?"

Sure. She'd give it a shot. She shrugged, her long, dark ponytail flipping as she did so. "I just.."

But she knew it wasn't worth it because this was Sue fucking Sylvestre she was talking to, and she couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"What would possess a person your age to get a boob job? You don't even know what your body's going to look like. It's an insult to nature."

Santana stared straight into her eyes, but her words went in one ear and out the other. She'd heard it a million times from her own mother.

"And completely distracting." Sue continued, and Santana noticed her eyes drop to her chest. "I can't take my eyes off them. I'm actually talking to them right now." Her hands made a gesture equal to that of an old Italian woman, signalling that she was, indeed, talking to Santana's rack.

This was retarded. She'd made the decision herself over the summer, because she was sick of being some random chick in the background. Sure, nobody fucked with her. "She's small, but she's fierce;" they'd all say. But.. fuck. She had a heart, too. She was still a girl, for Christ's sake. She wanted a guy to at least tell her he loved her before he screwed her. And mean it, that is.

"I wanted people to notice me more." She said, her voice becoming quiet. Almost sad. She realized this right away and kicked it up a notch. "I don't see what the big deal is." Santana shrugged, playing it off like it really was no big fucking deal. But it was. Because everyone seemed to notice it except the one person she wanted to.

"Well the big deal is that a person who has to pump her nonnies full of gravy to feel good about herself clearly doesn't have the self esteem to be my head cheerleader."

Wait.. _what? _Her head was swimming now, and she felt dizzy. He **definitely **wouldn't give a fuck about her if she wasn't top notch anymore. And she couldn't bear the thought of him not wanting her. Not even for a quick booty call. Because there'd be a new head cheerleader. Fresh meat for him.

"Quinn will replace you." Sue said with no sympathy, positioning her wide framed glasses on her nose.

Santana didn't know what she was saying, because she could barely breath. Random noises fell out of her mouth as her anger bubbled up inside of her. But something else was there, too. Sadness? No. That wasn't it. She was Santana fucking Lopez and she didn't **get** sad.

"Oh, and Boobs McGee?" Sue took off her glasses, placing them on the desk in front of her. "You're demoted to the bottom of the pyramid. So when it collapses your exploding sand bags will protect the squad from injury."

She had to be kidding. This was some sick joke, right? She waited for Sue to laugh. Waited for **anything.**

Putting her glasses back on, she began again. "Now take your juicy, vine-ripened chest fruit and get the **hell **out of my office."

Santana stood suddenly, fists clenched and eyes becoming wet. Fuck no. She didn't cry for anyone and she was **not** going to cry over something Quinn Fabitch did. And she sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone see it.

So she left Sue's office, totally defeated and feeling like someone had kicked her in the stomach.

And there she was.

The reason for all of this; strutting down the hallway like she owned the fucking place, skirt hiked up to expose her disgusting milky thighs and her greasy blonde hair held tight into a ponytail flinging back and forth. Okay. So her thighs weren't disgusting but they **were** white. And maybe her hair wasn't greasy but it **was **swinging obnoxiously.

And then it came to Santana in a flash. She wanted to rip that fucking ponytail right out of her head. And she was going to do it.

She charged at her, ready to push her straight into a locker, but something got in her way. She hit it hard, losing her balance.

"Shit, San. You okay?" Puck asked, reaching down to help her off the ground.

"No!" Santana shouted, standing up. "I'm **not** okay!"

She peered over his shoulder, trying to find her prey. And there she was again. Only this time, her back was to them. And then her side as she turned the corner.

"How could you?" She shouted once more, unable to hold in her anger. "I almost had her and now she's **gone**." She was becoming frantic.

"Woah.. calm down, babe." His voice was quiet. Gentle. The way he always was with his Santana. **His** Santana, who he'd never seen like this before. Were those tears in her eyes?

"Don't you tell me to calm down!" She yelled, but he could tell her voice was getting softer. "It's all your God damn fault!" She punched him in the chest, but it didn't hurt and she could tell. So she did it again, and again, until she felt his arms wrapping around her and pulling her in so tightly, she couldn't move even if she wanted to. Which she didn't.

And that's when he felt it. The wetness in the crook of his neck that could only be two things. Either she was drooling, or she was crying. Santana was way too fucking hot to be a drooler. But she was also too strong to be a crier. So even though he didn't want to, he pulled away. Just to check.

Her eyes were puffy, and she was sniffling. He wanted to kiss her tears away, but he knew he couldn't. At least that's what they'd both agreed to when they stopped hooking up last year. Santana claimed it was because he'd been with Rachel, and there was nothing more disgusting then that. After a while, Puck came up with his own excuse, which was that she'd slept with his best friend. And that made it feel like he was sleeping with Finn himself when he slept with her. It didn't make any fucking sense but Santana believed it because he was **Puck**, and he was never the one to say the brightest things. But they both knew why they had to call it off. Because having sex with a friend is totally different than having sex with someone you **love**. That involved committment and presents and cute, affectionate PDA instead of raunchy, steamy PDA. There was a thin line between the two, and they were about to cross it.

"She took everything." Santana said quietly, her big brown eyes welling up again, filled with hurt and sorrow. And that was all it took.

"Come on," Puck replied, wrapping an arm around her small waist. "Let's get out of here."


	2. Chapter 2

They'd only finished half of their school day and Santana had cheerleading practice but **fuck**, she could care less, because she wasn't about to be seen on the bottom of the pyramid and she sure as hell didn't trust herself to not kick the shit out of Quinn.

Sitting in Puck's car in the driveway of her house just felt comfortable and calm and she was so damn content that she was afraid she'd start crying again if he asked her to get out. But he'd never do that. They'd sat in this same position so many times before, but this particular time felt different. Because they weren't touching, or talking, or even looking at each other. Every breath was careful as if the air around them was fragile.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong now?" He asked her quietly, hands in his lap and eyebrow raised. She regretted looking at him as soon as she did, because if there was one thing she couldn't deny it was that he was sexy. **Very **sexy. And compassionate Puck was her favorite kind of Puck. Mainly because he only showed her that side of him. But looking at him only made her feel sick, because she remembered what happened earlier that day and he still hadn't said anything about her new 'melons.'

"No." She said, crossing her arms over her chest because it's not like he noticed anyway. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Santana.." Puck started, and she knew he was about to get serious because he **never** used her full name. Just like she never used his. Unless of course they were in bed, caught up in the moment and not realizing what they were saying. "There are two things in my life I never thought I'd see. One of them was me, being a father before my senior year of high school." She winced, because God damn it, that still hurt her so _fucking_ bad and she wished more than anything that he hadn't brought it up. "And the other was you, crying in the middle of a public hallway where anyone and everyone could see you. So please, tell me what happened."

"I'm not head cheerleader anymore." She mumbled, eyes fixed on something outside of the car.

"What?" He asked, because he **must** have heard her wrong.

Santana sighed, rolling her eyes because it sucked saying it once, but it was gonna be even worse saying it a second time. "I'm not head cheerleader anymore." She repeated, waiting for his reaction. When he didn't say anything, she continued. "Ms. Sylvestre basically told me my self confidence sucks so I'm not a suitable leader anymore. And I got demoted to the bottom of the fucking pyramid."

Puck looked straight ahead, racking his brain for something to say. That was why she was crying? That was something a normal girl would cry over. Not her.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" She asked, her voice cracking, making her fear that she'd start crying again. He had to have something to say to that. Anything. She'd even settle for a simple 'Why?' so that she could at least explain her boob job to him.

"Well.." He started, looking confused. "That's it?"

"What?" Because she was sure that this time she was the one who was mishearing things.

"I said, that's it? I mean, you cried just because you're not head Cheerio anymore?" Now he just looked dumb. And she was pissed. Fuck him. Fuck his charm and his good looks and his ability to make her laugh. Fuck Noah Puckerman.

"Forget it." Santana said with her hand already on the door handle, because it was a waste of time to yell at him and honestly, she felt her eyes welling up for the second time that day. Because he'd **never **understand what she was feeling and he'd _never_ care.

"What? No, I didn't mean to upset you I was just.." His voice was pleading, the way it was when he'd call her at four in the morning totally wasted, and he'd beg her to come over. And she always would. Thinking about that now made her sick to her stomach, because she was Santana fucking Lopez and **nobody **took advantage of her like that. How could she keep doing this to herself?

She should've stopped herself the first time he ever asked her to "hook up." She was fourteen, and so was he. She was the pretty cheerleader, he was the hot football player. It just made sense. _They_ made sense. It was awkward the first time. Quick and incredibly painful. But Puck **had **been her first time. And as far as she knew, she'd been his. So that had to mean something, right?

And he'd been coming back ever since then. Santana wished she could go back to that party and throw her fucking drink in his face instead of throwing her**self** at him. She wanted to hate him. Wanted to tell herself that no, she didn't need him. But she did.

And because of that, she slammed the door in his face, ignoring his apologies and promises to make it better. Because he couldn't make it better, even if he tried. Not this time.

**Thanks so much for the reviews! I've decided to make this into a short story. But I really do mean short. Four chapters at the most. And then I have another Santana/Puck story in mind, so don't fret, loves.**


	3. Chapter 3

It had already been at least half an hour after she'd gotten out of the car, and Puck was still sitting there with his head on the steering wheel. He fucked up, and now she was mad at him. Not even that. She looked.. _disgusted_ with him. And that freaked him out. He shouldn't have asked her if that was the only reason she was upset. He'd known her for years and he should have just **known** that there had to be more to the story then what she was telling him. So he sat there, and sat there some more, and desperately tried to pick apart their conversations that day to find out where the fuck he went wrong.

But all he could think about was her face while she cried. She looked totally trampled and it made something deep down inside of him ache.

He remembered her being upset because she couldn't get to Quinn. **Really** upset, actually. Enough that she'd tried to physically hurt him. She freaked out when he told her to calm down, and then cried into his neck for what felt like forever. And that was it.

No. She said something else. Why the fuck couldn't he remember what she said? So he sat there, and sat there some more, until it finally hit him.

"She took everything." Puck said outloud, picking his head up off the steering wheel as if that gave him a new outlook on the world around him.

He understood that part. Santana always considered being head cheerleader her 'everything', per say, and that had been taken away from her. But that still couldn't be all of it.

What had she said in the car? When she wasn't pissed off, that is.

Something about having no self confidence? Yeah. That was it.

And suddenly, it all clicked.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Santana paced back and forth in her kitchen, hands on her hips and full pout on her face. He'd been out there forever and with every minute it took more of her to remain calm and inside the house. Because running into his arms was the last and also probably the first thing she wanted to do right now.

She leaned back against the counter, letting herself slowly slide down to the floor and hugging her knees to her chest. She was in a complete clusterfuck of a mess and for the first time, she had no idea how to get out of it. It's not like she could go back in time and _not_ get her boobs done. And now she just felt stupid, because Puck didn't even notice and he practically _specializes_ in female anatomy.

She didn't jump when she heard the door to the left of her open, because she knew it was him. He never knocked, mainly because he knew he didn't have to. What's hers was also his, and she couldn't remember a time when it **wasn't** that way. And she didn't say a word when he sat down next to her. She just tensed up, the way she always did when he was close to her. Not in the bad way. The way that means you feel awkward around someone or don't actually want to be there. Tense, as in she had to keep her hands directly at her sides unless she wanted to find them all over his body.

"I'm sorry." Puck said, and since she'd known him for forever, and had also been lied to by him numerous times, she could tell he meant it. But that wasn't good enough.

"For?" She asked, because she really didn't think he knew what the fuck he was even apologizing for.

"Being insensitive. Acting like a jerk. I shouldn't have assumed that just because it wasn't a big deal to me that it wasn't a big deal to you." Ding ding. We have a winner. "And it all makes sense to me now."

The way he put his hand on her knee made her shiver. She was still in her uniform, so it was bare skin on bare skin. She closed her eyes and supressed the quiet groan begging to echo out of her chest. _Fuck_. Why did he have such an effect on her?

"Does it?" And she really wanted to know. She wanted him to tell her that he knew why she begged for his attention and no one elses. Why she cared so God damn much.

"Yeah." Puck smiled, biting his bottom lip in the process. "I totally get it. But San, look. She didn't take everything from you. You still have me. And just because you're not head cheerleader anymore doesn't mean you have to worry about anything. Nothing is going to change."

Santana swore her heart was going to soar right out of her chest. He **did** understand. He knew that she needed him. And he knew that she was scared that because she wasn't at the top anymore, he wouldn't want her. So she nodded her head, urging him to go on.

"Plus, what she did doesn't mean anything, anyway. She's a bitch. She's nothing."

She wanted to stand up and do a back flip. Or run around. Or do anything to keep her body moving as fast as her heart was.

"She's just Sue Sylvestre."

Wait. What? And then the nodding stopped.

When Santana's face fell suddenly, he knew he'd done something wrong. Again.

"You.." She started, her voice quiet. "You think that I actually care about Sue? About what she thinks?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, isn't that what this is about? The crying, the yelling? All of it?" Puck's forehead was creased in confusion.

"No!" She shouted, standing up. "Absolutely fucking not. Could you **be** any more dense?"

He joined her on his feet, completely baffled at the scene playing out in front of him. This was _not_ how he expected it to go. He had no idea what to say. So he said nothing at all. And after what felt like forever, she started yelling again.

"I meant **Quinn**, you fucking asshole. She's the one who told Coach about my boob job. She's the reason I'm not head cheerleader anymore. But guess who is? Quinn fucking perfect Fabray! She stole that from me, Puck. I worked my ass off for three years to get that position and she just ripped it out from under me without a warning. And you know what? It was **my** idea to join that stupid Glee club. Because **I** was the one who loved to sing. Who loved to perform. So yeah, she did take **everything** from me. At least everything I love. She took cheerleading, and she took Glee club, and she took **you**."

Santana was fuming, and her breathing was getting heavy, and her adrenaline was pumping through her veins like a wildfire and _God,_ did Puck think she looked sexy. And he never really had a way with words.

So he kissed her. Hard. Pushed her up against her refrigerator in the kitchen her whole fucking family ate in and really, honestly _kissed_ her. And she didn't resist him. Because she **loved** him, and even if she didn't, he was a hell of a good kisser.

He picked her up off the ground, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, and she groaned as he moved his hips against hers.

"Puck.." She spoke breathily, intensely. Her hormones were getting the best of her but she didn't care, because Puck _was_ the best of her. "Bedroom."

And he knew how to get there with his eyes closed. Because they'd been like this so many times before. Yet somehow, this was different.

Because after he laid her down on her bed, and before he took off both of their clothes, he looked her straight in the eyes and said "I love you, too."

And she didn't care if he meant it. Because everyone has their weak spot. The one thing that, despite your best efforts, will always bring you to your knees, regardless of how strong you are otherwise. And he'd _always_ been hers.

**So, I was gonna write another chapter for this. But I think I'm just going to end it here. And then I'll make the next chapter into a one shot of it's own. Also, I'm working on another story! It's long, you'll like it. It has Santana and Puck, of course. And Finn! Hooray. Review! Tell me what you thought of this story. Constructive criticism? Go for it. Want me to read one of your stories? Just ask!**


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